


Compared to a Woman's Love

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aunt/Nephew Incest, Dark!Lyanna, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Period-Typical Sexism, Underage Sex, dirtybadwrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 18:56:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12588408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Jon has always loved his Aunt Lyanna. She talks him out of leaving Winterfell for the Wall.





	Compared to a Woman's Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SnowStone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowStone/gifts).



> Written for a prompt SnowStone gave me, asking for explicit Jon/Lyanna. I hear hell is nice this time of year.

“You're leaving. Ned told me.”

The accusation _you didn't_ does not need to be spoken, and Jon hangs his head in shame. “Forgive me, Aunt Lyanna,” he says. “I meant to speak to you first, but – well, I kept putting it off – I knew you'd be angry.”

“Damn right I'm angry,” she says, slamming her door behind him. “Why?”

Jon sighs deeply. “There's no place for me here. You know that.” He tries hard not to let it sound maudlin, or self-pitying – he tells himself it's just a fact he's resigned to.

Lyanna scoffs. “Nor do I,” she says. “The ruined daughter, unwed and unweddable, the family scandal. But I would never let them get rid of me.”

 _But no-one has ever tried to get rid of you._ Despite her stained reputation, the whole family adores their Aunt Lyanna. Even Lady Catelyn, the most pristine lady in the North, gets along surprisingly well with her ruined goodsister, for reasons Jon has never understood – but it's that friendship that lets his aunt serve as his protector, willing to push where Father won't or can't. It is only Aunt Lyanna who has ever been able to make Lady Catelyn apologise to him for anything, for which Jon is grateful, even though he knows the woman will still never be fond. Sometimes, there are whispers from his lord father's bannermen that it is unseemly to have Lyanna still in the castle, that she should have been married to some household knight decades ago, that she will lead Sansa and especially Arya astray, and that Father should get rid of her – but Father would never do that to his beloved sister.

Jon knows it's unfair to resent that. It was Lyanna's fault what Prince Rhaegar did to her, and it's monstrously unjust that he's still remembered as the noble prince while she's the whore who tore the realm asunder. But it's not _his_ fault what Father did to whatever woman mothered him either.

“I can talk to Catelyn, if that's what's driving this,” she tells him, and Jon shakes his head. He's sure Lady Stark will be much relieved to see him go, but even without her, the situation remains the same. He is a bastard, and he will always be a bastard as long as he's here. He has to...

“I have to be my own man,” he says. “I cannot be a little boy hiding behind my father's legs for the rest of my life. There is great honour serving in the Night's Watch.”

“Honour?” Lyanna's mouth quirks in a smile, and Jon stops, swallows the lump in his throat. He used the wrong word. They both know it is not only his bastardy he's fleeing. “I see. You don't actually want to go... but you think you must.”

She's moving closer, and Jon's mouth hangs open, panting softly. “Aunt Lyanna, don't,” he murmurs, but he stays in place, trapped as a wolf in a snare. He tries desperately to remind himself what she is – his aunt, his blood. He can imagine the fury and horror on Father's face if he ever found out, and the utter lack of surprise on Lady Catelyn's.

“Don't worry, sweetling,” she cooes, stroking his hair like a mother, as she softly kisses the line of his jaw. “You always worry too much. Just like Ned.” Lyanna does not worry: she seems to think if it is good enough for the Targaryens, it is good enough for her. Perhaps it is a way of casting herself up, making herself equal to the man who stole and ruined her. Her honour is already so marked, how much more damage can this do?

Jon moans as her hand moves down and finds the packet of his breeches, squeezing him as he stiffens against her. “You want to stay with me,” she whispers against his skin, “where I can touch you. Where I can feel you. Where I can _fuck_ you.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jon gasps, his prick jumping in her hand. _But I can't,_ he wants to say, but the words don't come.

“Good boy,” Lyanna tells him with a chaste kiss to his cheek, before she lets him go and drops to her knees in front of him. Jon stares, enthralled and horrified. _You shouldn't_ , he should say. If he commits such sins with her, he should not let her pleasure him and get nothing in return. And yet he can't resist the promise of her wicked, sinful mouth around his cock.

Sometimes Jon fears he is no better than Father, no better than Prince Rhaegar, taking advantage of this woman. Although Lyanna has always been the one to offer. She gives him love in any and every form, and Jon is starved enough to lap it up eagerly. She pulls his cock out of his breeches like she has a half-hundred times before, licking a long, slow trail along the underside. “There you are. A kiss for my handsome prince.”

She is not the only one to give him love, of course, his brothers and sisters all love him, and Father too. But his brothers and sisters are all still above him, and they are aware of it, to greater and lesser degrees. Even Arya, who loves him more than anyone in the whole world, Lyanna has warned him in between teaching her niece the sword and the bow: she is still a girl, and she should grow more cautious when she is older. Especially knowing what happened to her aunt.

Perhaps Jon loves his Aunt Lyanna best as she is the only one as ruined as he was born to be.

“I'm no prince,” he tells her, and Lyanna says nothing to that, simply curls her lips around his cock, sucking. Jon moans and arches against her, then bites his lip so no-one will hear. He has no wish to stain her reputation further.

She pleasures him without a hint of shame, taking his cock halfway down her throat, humming around the length like she's lazing in the sun on a hot summer's day. Jon turns bright red and can hardly look, but her gentle fingers tracing comforting patterns along his thighs bring him down to the earth.

“That's my good boy,” she whispers as she pulls off, wrapping her hand around the base of him instead, and looking up to meet his eye – grey so much like her own. “You want to stay, don't you? With me?”

“Yes,” he says, and she strokes his cock faster. “ _Of course_.”

“He can't steal you from me for good,” she murmurs, and Jon doesn't understand what she means but he doesn't get to ask, because she takes him back into her mouth, stroking one half of him while she sucks the other half of him, enveloping him in pleasure. Who else has ever loved Jon enough to do _this_ for him?

Jon can't last long, green boy that he is, and he comes into his aunt's mouth with a strangled cry. But there is no shame in it with Lyanna; she wrings each drop out of him with a pleased sound, and swallows it all easily. When she stands, she kisses him, deeply, thoroughly, letting him share the taste of his seed. It's as if they share the one mouth, as they share so much else of their bodies.

When they part, Jon sighs and leans his brow against her own, trying to recover his wits. He fails. “Lyanna?” he asks. “Would you go lie on the bed for me?”

She grins, looking so much younger than her years, twice his age. “Of course, Jon,” she says, and eagerly pulls her skirt up to her waist as she lies back on her girlhood bed. Jon kisses her as he settles above, the taste of come still in both their mouths. He wants to unlace her bodice and suckle at her teats, but also he cannot wait to have his mouth on her cunt.

As he settles in between her legs, Lyanna squirms underneath him. “Jon?” she asks, and there is a twinge – well-hidden – of fear in her voice. “You _will_ stay?”

Jon nods. “Yes. Of course.” He shouldn't, he knows he will ruin himself like this. But Lyanna has always loved him, and between her legs, he feels he has a home.

 


End file.
